The End of Struggle

This is the west side. Our side. Not your sunny side up white collar pancakes and dreams. We are the puppy mill. The last stop. Harder veins, tagged trains, jacked brains. You don't fit in.

We don't see the litter. And I didn't crawl out from under this rock yesterday. Add it to the pile. Burn it to the ground. Stomp your feet. Drag. Waste. You won't fit in or stand in line at the clinic.

We are the generations. This is the west side. Our side. Not your hayride white collar lattes and creams. Push back. Stomp. Fit in. Try looking the other way or looking me in the eye.

This is the bad side. Our side. Not your All You Need Is Love two disc set. Take your sad eyes and see my struggle isn't against flesh and blood but against principalities, against powers, against darkness.

Clutter for sale!

Today I will straighten my room. It is getting quite cluttered and the disarray makes me twitch. All day I tidy counters, wash and put away dishes, and clean up behind people. I can’t stand a messy work area. It makes me crazy. Literally the walls begin pushing the clutter closer to my already tweaking brain stem. The only reason my room breeds neglect is because I am too tired to be neurotic. My brain shuts down long enough to help me feel my way to bed. I don’t - no, won’t look around. My bed is tidy. Even if it is not made, the sheets and bed spread are pulled tight and pillows aligned. The clutter won’t disrupt my sleep. It will, however, cause a total mental meltdown when I get to work and look for a space big enough to SET A PURSE.